Long Ago
by lilyonce
Summary: One-shot. Inquisitor Pia Trevelyan tells Cullen that four years ago she was slated for transfer to Kirkwall's circle of magi.


There's an awkward silence, and nervous, Cullen breaks eye contact with me, but I keep my eyes fixed on him. He shouldn't have so casually brought up the circle to a rebel like me. That was stupid. But I feel good about having a templar on the defensive as its wonderful change of pace from the past two years of my life and wonder at how long I can make it last.

"Did you know that I was slated for transfer to Kirkwall's circle?" I start.

A clipped, dead "No," is all he offers.

"I'm a bit surprised at that. My name should've been on some document, just over four years ago now, waiting for the Knight-Commander's signature. And I'm sure your spymaster Leliana has dug up enough of my records to know. She didn't tell you?"

"I don't remember seeing anything," Cullen says quietly. He blinks in rapid succession and draws his face up into an unruffled mask, but I know that absolutely he'd rather not talk about this, dance around a past he's trying so hard to get over, but that doesn't deter me at all. How many mages danced on the gallows in his prison, after all? He can take this because this won't hurt nearly as much, I think, and in that moment I make it my cause to ensure Kirkwall's tragedy is never lost on anyone, least of all its Knight-Captain.

"My instructors were at their wits end with me. They couldn't figure out my magic at all. What I could do, they don't teach it in the Circle. But I knew what worked for me and I knew how to control it. I learned anyway without much help from them." I talk fast out of rising indignation, but I otherwise keep my voice even and neutral enough. I don't need to draw blood with it just yet. That comes later.

"But the way I developed my talent, they couldn't allow it. It was too untraditional. Too much like magics the Chantry had tried to stamp out a millennium ago." Cullen turns his head but a convenient gust of wind rolling over the hill blasts him in the face and he turns back to me, finally settling his eyes on a spot just above my head.

"Messing around with spirit magic like I did, it had to be explained - and more importantly, contained." I smooth my fingers up my staff and purse my lips but only for a moment.

"The official line, they thought maybe Kirkwall's mages could help me. The veil was thin there, so they were more familiar with unusual manifestations of power," I pause.

"But what help could the mages there be when they'd been denied their staves and spell books? When they had templars breathing down their necks every time they'd dare take a shit without first getting permission?" Its now I sharpen the edges at the ends of my words and it has the desired effect. Like I wanted, it cuts away the crap and there's a flash of something real on his face. I can see he recalls that period well.

"Everyone knew how unbearable Kirkwall's circle was. And everyone knew what sort of threat I was to the order of Ostwick's. They wanted me out and that's how they were going to do it."

I take a breath.

"So how long would I have lasted there? Frequent ruler breaker like me, practicing banned magic in the commons, bitching about how much I hate templars to everyone in earshot? I would've been made tranquil, right?" The clang of metal on metal in the training grounds is white noise and Cullen lowers his eyes to mine again. The answer is clear to me - not long. I shrug and even give a little laugh.

"That's what I thought. At least that's what I _first_ thought. I know now that I would've been killed before the year was out." He doesn't flinch and I'm impressed as he's been so jittery since I walked up to him this morning.

"Maybe even dead by your hand," I add. Its really not one, but I deliver this line like a taunt anyway, and in the end I'm okay with how it leaves my mouth because Cullen isn't. He's regretful, and hurt, and something else too but his reaction ends there.

Just as he opens his mouth to reply some assistant shouts to him and runs up with another report. He excuses himself with a curt apology, turns his back to me and says no more.

That's it. And like before in the war room, I'm beyond pissed.

I want to twist his head off at the neck and punt it from the highest mountain in the Frostbacks. I turn on my heel and wonder if I can get away with it without Cassandra ever finding out.


End file.
